The Goddess of Blood and Steel
by TheAlabasterPhoenyx
Summary: Athene: the steel-eyed goddess of wisdom and war. The 61st Hunger Games. The Hunger Games leave no one unscathed, no matter where they came from. (District 2 OC)
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first story, so I would love to hear from readers if I am doing anything wrong or if I can make it better in any way.**

**Thank you!**

**(I do not own anything you recognize - all credit for that goes to Suzanne Collins)**

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I stand in the square, all anxieties hidden so deep within me that I would not be able to search them out even if I wished to be weak. All I feel is anticipation, excitement, and pride. It is all I have conditioned myself to feel on this culmination of all for which I have ever hoped. The others stand around me, fidgeting slightly in discomfort now that they have found no reason for the absolute stillness that dominates me. They have lost their chance; I have beaten them for the honor that is given to only two each year.

Vita Ailet, the district escort, trills up on the stage about what an honor it is to be here in District 2 for another Reaping, obviously excited as any Capitolite to see which of our beautiful savage children will be volunteering this year. My attention is caught by the way she speaks, as if all of this is just entertainment, and I feel disgust overcome me. How can these people not see the true glory of the Games? The annual video warns me to push my feelings out of mind, to prepare myself for this moment of realization.

The entire square is silent, everyone holding his or her breath as Ailet's golden-fingered hand reaches delicately into the reaping bowl. Although every person in Panem knows that whoever is drawn will never have to go into the Arena, for a split second every year, the fear overcomes us as well that someone unprepared will march to his death in the Hunger Games. The Capitolite seems to enjoy drawing this out, forcing us to hold our breaths to see whose odds are not in favor this year. The mathematician in me is running through the statistics of past Reapings, attempting to apply a pattern to the lottery like in the many Academy studies that always turned up inconclusive. So many variables race before my eyes: weight of paper, length of name, number of slips to each citizen, age of entries, how recently each was added to the glass bowl. Even though I know that the honor will be mine, I cannot stop myself from attempting to figure out which of my fellow children will have been destined for it by the lottery before I volunteer.

"Vivica Vigil," Ailet pronounces, hoping to at the very least see the poor girl who was called before a well-trained, brutal, elder 'Career,' as the outer districts call us, takes the place on stage. My own breath pauses and I forget for a moment to shout the fateful words. Three syllables resound in my thoughts, connecting slowly with nearly-forgotten, buried memories, bringing a picture of a tiny green-eyed infant in my aunt's arms as I was sent off to the group home and my family washed their hands of me forever.

In a sense, this will be bringing me full-circle, cutting all ties from shared blood, showing everyone that I have fulfilled my duty to my family and now they only exist as part of my District, to which my only loyalty lies.

"I volunteer." My voice rings out, strong and clear and carefully eager, over the packed square, as my younger cousin begins her journey to the stage. The other eighteen-year-olds make an effortless path for me, and as I pass the relieved girl who never made it to the Academy, I make no indication that I even recognize her.

"And what is your name, dear?" Ailet cannot keep the excitement from her voice; I look exactly as a tribute from Two should: lithe and strong, with cold statuesque beauty and confidence to spare.

"Aemilia Vigil," I say, raising my chin a slight bit to dare the small fourteen-year-old to make any presumption that my volunteering has anything to do with her. My eyes are steel, a pale grey-blue that I know glint with something unreadable on the screens.

"That must be your sister!" The woman is delighted, but when I turn my unreadable eyes to her gilded face, a bit of her enthusiasm trickles away.

"She is a cousin."

To cover up her embarrassment, she blusters over to the other reaping bowl, swishing her fingers around the myriad of slips, drawing out the suspense for all the viewers and everyone in the crowd below.

I feel strangely apathetic, now that I am on this stage, bound to the Games for better or for worse. I recognize that I just signed my soul over to the Capitol with those two words.

I remind myself with a not-unpleasant chill that I signed my soul to the Capitol the moment I entered the Academy eight years ago.

"Tyrus Decuren," she reads, and I feel sympathy for the poor boy. He is the year below me in Academy Silver, one of the best of his class. Unfortunately, this reaping means that he will never have the chance to become a tribute. If you are called and someone volunteers, you can never volunteer yourself, especially not the succeeding year. Otherwise, someone might think the odds are too strangely in your favor.

My district partner volunteers, a rather attractive boy by the name of Aquilon Lersea. We shake hands, our eyes locked as we vow silently to do everything in our power to ensure one of us wins for our district, each ignoring the glint in the other's eyes.

The other Districts just do not seem to get it. They do not understand why we are so willing to work together when we clearly dislike each other every year, when both of us clearly wish desperately to win each time a voice rings out to volunteer. The other Districts, save One and sometimes Four, do not understand how we can give our whole lives down to our very souls to these Games.

What I want to know is if they have ever had the chance to redeem themselves and be given a purpose higher than their own insignificant lives. I wonder if they have never felt the driving pride in community that fills each of the tributes from the 'Career' districts, calling us to bring to our homes the glory that it deserves.

I wonder if they have never given all of themselves, put all of their trust into something, only to have it returned tenfold.

I have said all of my goodbyes to my training companions last night. I have saluted my trainers for the last time, and I have let go of everything tying me home, saving not even a district token. I have given up all that would tie me here, only leaving for myself the drive to bring honor with my life.

This is why I am surprised to have visitors in the Justice Building. We 'Careers' rarely have anyone who wishes to see what returns from the Academy, and each of us who volunteers is drilled on how to be alone in that room to our best advantage. When the door opens, I allow myself just a hint of surprise, not letting it onto my face, of course, but giving it just a bit of room in my thoughts before I catch it and bury it under layers of ice and readiness. In the Arena, I must be ready for anything.

In the Arena, however, I will not have to face what I now do.

A little girl enters the room and runs right over to me, throwing her arms around me and burying her face in my ribs. I do not respond other than to curl my lip in disdain, vaguely recognizing this clinging child as one to whom I am related. I carefully pry her off of me, softly but forcefully pushing her a safe distance away as I survey who has come to see me off.

My teary-eyed aunt smiles at me, pride in every lineament of her face, trying desperately to hide the guilty relief that I can nearly smell, like blood leaking from a hastily-bandaged wound. She is glad that her precious girl has been given back to her and that the other one, the monster, is taking her place. My uncle, a quarry worker, looks at me with barely-hidden wariness. He, for certain, has not forgotten what happened all those years ago. That is good; I have not either. It has driven me for the past thirteen years.

"Thank you, Aemilia. Oh, thank you! I knew you weren't –" My aunt puts a hand on her shoulder, and the little girl for whom I volunteered cuts herself off, looking suddenly sheepish and slightly ashamed at the carpeted ground.

"Do not thank me, Vivica Vigil. I have done my duty to our district, not to you. I volunteered for the honor of serving District Two and all of Panem, and in doing so I have cut myself off from any ties of personal loyalty I may have harbored," I pause, ensuring with my piercing grey eyes that they understand exactly what I am saying, "Even those that I have long severed."

The recognition dawns on my aunt's face, and she has the decency to look ashamed of her actions, but my uncle just looks at me coldly.

"I knew we made the right decision. Looking at you now, I am glad of what we did. I would not want a monster under my roof."

I grin ferally, the grin I perfected in eight years training for moments like this, the grin that sends shivers down the spines of the staunchest trainers who have seen it all before, the grin that promises something deeper than violence, the grin that gives just a glimpse into my darkened soul. I am rewarded by a flinch of my stout uncle's shoulders, and an outright shudder from my weak-hearted aunt.

"I thank you for your visit," I say formally, my expression back to normal but with a glint in my blue-grey eyes. They know that I have officially distanced them to the rank of every other inhabitant of Two, leaving no consideration of blood except that which I shall willingly spill to return.

They leave compliantly, almost eagerly, when the Peacekeeper tells them that their time has run out.

The door shuts behind them with a sound that, although quiet, seems to resound in my psyche. It symbolizes the absolute end of everything of my life before, leaving only now, only the Games as real. The end began the moment I stepped within the doors of Academy Silver, beginning my journey to this room and this door that has finally shut on normalcy.

From here until death, I am no longer a single member of District Two. I am their symbol; I am their pride made manifest. I cannot burden myself with stagnant memories of family and life before purpose.

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**Thank you for reading, and please give me some feedback so I can make the story better!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for reading! I would love to hear from you, whether it be what you like or what you don't like about this, just tell me what you think.**

**I do not own anything that you recognize from the books or the movies.  
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Once on the train, Ailet trills at us that we are going to meet our mentors, leading us down to a plush compartment. This moment is one which I have been expecting with wonder and excitement since I set foot in the Academy Silver. Each recruit has his or her own favourite Victor, and even though we are strictly not supposed to hope for anything in the Academy, we each harbour a small wish for some particular man or woman to be our mentor in the Games. The Victors are the closest people to celebrities that we have in District Two; they have accomplished that which the rest of us are striving to attain. If I had not been trained to maintain utter composure for the past eight years, my heart would have been skipping beats with anticipation.

As it is, however, I simply step into the compartment with a glint in my blue-grey eyes.

I vaguely feel Aquilon step beside me with the acuteness of lost familiarity, but my attention is riveted on the two Victors who are standing in the compartment with me. I saw them all standing on the platform during the Reaping as per tradition, but I had been focused on the actual act of standing in front of all of Panem on television and offering my soul to the Games, so I do not quite remember analyzing their faces.

Both Brutus and Lyme look at us appraisingly, though showing no indication as to which tribute they have chosen to mentor. I shut down all my hoping before it gets too far, resolving that the Games have already begun and that I cannot allow for any weakness now.

The family was the last of that.

Nevertheless, when Lyme nods to me, leading me to a separate compartment to begin our talk, I feel a small bit of pleasant surprise that I actually managed to impress my preferred mentor enough that she chose me over Aquilon.

We sit and she looks at me with a strange expression on her face that I cannot read, though almost as if she is wishing for something. Almost immediately it is gone and she has jumped right to the point of our conversation.

"Tell me about yourself. Strengths, weaknesses, anything that I will need to know to keep you alive."

At Academy Silver, we are all drilled in how to answer these kinds of questions. I know exactly how empty to keep my voice, how much pride to infuse into my bearing, how to speak with eagerness but not arrogance, how to tell what is important that a person hears. I can evaluate myself with all the detachment of a stranger.

"My name is Aemilia Vigil, though my epithet has been for a long while 'Athene.' I have attended Academy Black for logistical training for eight years, and Academy Silver for the same amount of time. I am proficient at hand-to-hand combat and long-range spearing, and I am passable at most other activities. My weakest points are axes and maces, since I do not prefer heavy bludgeons. I am intelligent, I can analyze opponents and situations, and I have long become adept at solving multiple puzzles at once," I pause, watching her think over my objective analysis of myself, before she nods at me to continue with my weaknesses. This is the section of the mentor interview in which I began to feel uncomfortable every time I practiced at the Academy; I am quite adept at analyzing my objective strengths and weaknesses, but stripping myself bare and revealing all of my vices goes against every wall I have built against the outside world. My voice is slightly softer as I stare at the plush wall, hands gripped in discomfort, sitting ramrod-straight on the couch.

"I have allowed myself few indulgences," I feel compelled to say, even though she must know this already by my prior behavior and current discomfort. "One of which is my hair."

My ebony hair is plaited around my head in a crown; fixing the strands into a tight plaited style has long been my favorite part of each morning, especially of the Reaping, when I can indulge myself slightly and add a bit of elaboration in the plaiting. Today strands have been braided off from the main crown, forming a multitude of small braids that softly twine around the plait.

"May I see?" It is not quite a question; I know as well as she that she must know everything about me if she is to help me return. She will hear what I tell her and then decide what angle to play for the Games, whether it be savage sadist or simpering idiot.

I quickly undo the plait, shaking out the silky strands with a feeling reminiscent of love and pride warming my chest, as dangerous as I know that it is.

My hair, undone, falls down my shoulders and my back to pool around me as I sit, a long black curtain of something I should not have but cannot bear to be rid of. It has been my one indulgence for my entire life, never cutting it when I was supposed to, always slipping under the rules because of the preference I garnered from the teachers and trainers because of my other talents. I run my fingers across the dark strands, then re-fold them, watching Lyme for her reaction.

She raises her eyebrows slightly, though her face is still hard.

"This could be the difference between living and dying in the arena, Aemilia. It is such a blatant risk – if you are caught by even the very end of your hair, you're dead." Her voice is chastising, but thoughtful, as if she is pondering what else could be done other than trimming the beautiful waterfall.

I bow my head, not allowing myself to hope that I will be able to keep it, since I have now, for all intents and purposes, entered the Games. I am representing my District; I no longer belong to myself. If my mentor judges my hair to be too much of a risk, it will be cut.

She makes no verdict at this point, simply asking me to continue my confession.

"I have no family. We have utterly separated, despite what seemed to happen during the Reaping."

I know that this is dangerous, more so than my hair. The Capitol will want their Victor to be the best of the tributes, and not only in prowess. Their Victor must be the most appealing, the one whom the least want dead. Having people to whom you long to return is certainly one of the most beloved qualities in a tribute; then, when they are betting, they can feel like they have helped someone reunite with their loved ones. It makes the Games more romantic.

"That is unfortunate," she murmurs, "especially since you volunteered for the girl and had to acknowledge her. It makes it seem like you are sacrificing yourself for your little cousin."

I twitch my face into a momentary sneer, then just as quickly return to blank.

"My only goal is to bring glory to my district," I pronounce, looking straight into the dark grey eyes of the older woman, ensuring that she sees the truth in my own blue-grey eyes.

"We can work with this," she responds, eyes darkened with thought as she asks me if I have anything else I need to share.

I am quiet for a long moment, warring within myself against natural secrecy that has been ingrained over the past year and a half, but I know that since I am not my own any longer, neither are my secrets.

"Aquilon was my boyfriend for a year. We broke it off once training became more intense and we realized the likelihood of both of us being chosen to volunteer. We have now both focused on our priorities."

Her eyes widen in shock, because this is one of the worst possible confessions a Volunteer can make. The Capitol may love a star-crossed romance, but if we wish to win as badly as we do, we Twos cannot afford any attachments.

"So what do you plan on doing?" She asks me, and I know in the deepest parts of my psyche that she is testing me, but I do not know, for once, what she wishes to hear from me, so I decide to answer honestly.

"Neither of us will say anything. We decided months ago, after we were notified of our respective honors," I say, my gaze hard. She nods, her face returning to that strange pondering look from before. I wait in still silence for a long while, relaxing into wariness in preparation for the Arena, so that when she moves to speak I snap my attention over to her before the first word leaves her lips.

"Here's what we're going to do. You are above it all. Be disconnected, aloof, do not make connections but be generally amiable. No arrogance, just pride. You did not volunteer for your cousin; you volunteered for every child who had the potential of being reaped. You are not rivals with anyone; you will work with them and against them to bring your district honor. You cannot be the villain. Let Aquilon or a One do that. You are above the rawness of fighting, with the projectile weaponry, but you are not afraid to get your hands dirty, with close combat. Be likeable but elite. Got it?"

I nod. It is unconventional; usually Twos are arrogant or psychotic, or both, but as long as I do not have to open up to the Capitol like the outlying Tributes do, I can play any role. If it does not involve honesty, I have no problem.

"My hair?" I ask, addressing the one issue she has not resolved in my image.

Her face relaxes and I realize that we have been sitting here for hours when Ailet comes in to bring us to supper.

"Let the stylist figure that one out."

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**Thank you again for reading! If you tell me what you think, it will help me write. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I haven't updated in a while - sorry for anyone who is reading. I got a bit discouraged since no one seems to like it, but now I've psyched myself into writing just for the sake of writing.**

** Unfortunately, that means that I'll be updating irregularly, whenever I have the time and feel like writing this story instead of the many others I have going.**

**So, lacking motivation, this may or may not be written, but I'll post whenever I do finish a chapter.**

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Since my District is so close to the Capitol, we enter the city at sunset. I am nearly dead on my feet from waking at dawn for the early-morning Reaping, then the exhausting talk with Lyme, and the dinner during which we watched recaps of the other Districts' Reapings. Nevertheless, I manage to don my public persona when we pull into the train station.

In the few minutes when we are gliding by the crowds so they can get a glimpse of the Tributes, we have a window for first impressions.

Aquilon, I can tell, has been instructed to be the arrogant handsome killer from the 'Career' district, as he is immediately over by the glass, waving and grinning at the crowd. I know that his smile will be confident, and he leans forward like he cannot wait to get into the Games.

I wait a minute before strolling over, leaning on the window a good few feet from my partner. My smile is small and aloof, but I wave amiably to the Capitolites. I was instructed by my mentor not to redo my hair, so it falls down my back to my legs, shading the left part of my face where it has slipped from behind my ear.

Then the crucial first moments are over and our first impressions are already being circulated around the gossip tracks of the city.

Our quarters in the Training Center are on the second floor, not as posh as those above us, but we have no need of the finery that the outlying districts crave in the Capitol. Our only goal here is to return again, not to appreciate the beauty of the city.

Although the Victors sit down with Vita Ailet to plan the best course of action for sponsors, we Tributes collapse in our beds, exhausted and knowing that we will need to be in our best minds for tomorrow. However, somehow, sleep evades me and I stare at the shimmering ceiling with wide-awake steel eyes.

As I lay in my bed, I recap the reapings in my mind in a tactic learnt in long years in the Academy to help bring on sleep. From One were a beautiful blonde and a huge boy, Opal and Aster. From Two were myself and Aquilon. From Three, a small boy and a lean tall girl, Irving and Adia. From Four, a muscular seventeen-year-old volunteer and a small girl with shaking hands, Diver and Cassidy. By the time my mind reaches Twelve, a starved sixteen-year-old and a starved fourteen-year-old, I am slipping off into unconsciousness.

I dream of the dark forest and my mother. I am a child again, barely old enough to walk on my own, wandering around the slopes of the mountain, calling for my mother to come back. In my dream, there is no answer, but on I stumble, hoping in my child's heart that she has not truly left me like she had said.

Then I find her in the stream, and I scream because the water is staining my fingers red.

Then the red is not from my mother, and I look to see the mutilated corpse of a rabbit bleeding onto the dirt schoolyard, and my child hands tremble under their coat of scarlet, but the knife stays clutched in my slick fingers because I cannot bear to let it go.

I do not want to surrender yet, but horror swamps me because I know that I am wrong, and when the first screams begin I do not know if they are mine or from the gaping mouth of the animal or from my mother who is somehow there watching me with her dead grey eyes or maybe I think my aunt has remembered me, but then I know that it does not matter because someone is screaming and I cannot get away from it and I jump awake and realize that everything is silent as the grave.

I stare at the swirling, sparkling indigo ceiling and check my breathing, having learnt after years of nightmares to wake up quietly from even the most disjointed and confusing of dreams. I am relieved to find that only my heart rate has increased but that I was not screaming like I thought I had been in my sleep, which makes me very grateful because I cannot afford to lose my calm like that - not here, not now.

I cannot remember much from the dream, but I know that it must have been thoughts of myself. I have been haunted by what I fear I am since the first time I killed a bird and liked the feeling of finally being in control. The same monster that dwells inside me and scares me to nightmares, however, is the only thing that will be finally re-paying my District for all they have done to help me subdue it; the only way I will return to my normal, monster-free life is to embrace the creature inside of me.

All I wish to do is to creep out of bed and find somewhere I can run through my combat exercises like I am still in my Academy dormitory, but I know that I cannot lose my façade of perfection so I force myself to stare at the brilliant Capitol ceiling and imagine which of my adversaries are sleeping above me.

I wonder who will give me glory by their death.

As much as I do not want to face my fears again, I make my eyes close and willingly submit to the dreams that show me the truth about myself, knowing all the while that even though I will not remember any of this in the morning, I will still have to experience the terror in the night. However, if there is one thing I have learnt from long years of dark nights and early mornings, it is how to sleep quickly and with a façade of calm.

So I dive back under the suffocating dark and hope that when I awake, I will never have to dream again.

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**Sorry it was short - I decided it was better to post something than to have this sit on my hard drive forever waiting for me to get back into it.**

**Leave a review if you liked it - if even one person cares enough to read and to tell me that they like it, I would probably be writing obsessively.**


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